


Sins of the Father

by distant_rose



Series: Little Pirates [13]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a kinda happy ending, Daddy!Killian, F/M, Fighting, In which Killian Jones sees only the darker sides of him, Minor Violence, Self loathing Killian Jones, by minor violence I mean more of minors committing violence, father-son bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-28 21:52:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11426940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distant_rose/pseuds/distant_rose
Summary: “Seed is strong, lads. The sins of the father always come up in the sons." Killian's old captain once told him that before punishing him and his brother severely for a crime they didn't commit. However, Killian now wonders if there is any truth to it, considering the intense violence he witnesses his son committing. (AO3 Request)





	Sins of the Father

**Author's Note:**

  * For [15ekaytert887](https://archiveofourown.org/users/15ekaytert887/gifts).



> Okay, okay, this request is ridiculously late and I am a terrible, horrible person and I hope 15ekaytert887 will forgive me. Anyway, she requested the following: “Wes does something bad and Killian begins to worry that his son is going to be dark like he was and then Emma somehow shows him that that’s not the case.” I tried super hard to keep true to the request as well as to my characters. This one got away with me honestly. I thought I was going to cap at 4,000 words but then it just took on a life of its own. Always, welpthisishappening, you are the light of my life and a trooper for encouraging me and reading all the spam messages I send you.

Killian finds his son sitting outside the Dean’s office with a bloody lip, a bruise ringing around his right eye and discolored knuckles. The Dean of Students had called and said there was an incident, which Killian now knows from surveying his son and taking in the visual evidence that the incident in question was a fight.

Wes doesn’t know he’s there, not yet, and he’s staring at the wall in front of him with blazing blue eyes and a clenched jaw. His posture is stiff, as if he’s waiting for the perfect moment to bolt. His shaggy pale blonde hair is matted with sweat, strands curling over his ears and sticking to his forehead.

“Westley…” Killian calls, concern in his voice.

Wes looks up and Killian watches as a muscle jumps in his jaw. The fire isn’t quite replaced in his eyes, but he looks more surprised to see his father standing in Storybrooke Central High School’s administration office than ready to punch a hole through a wall as he did before.

“Dad, what are you doing here?” Wes asks, eyebrows furrowing together. Killian sees there’s something dark on his son’s forehead. He can’t tell if it’s another bruise or a smudge of dirt.

“The Dean called and said there was an incident and that they needed to talk to me about it,” Killian replies with an arched eyebrow. “Get into a fight, lad?”

“Normally Mom handles this,” Wes states, ignoring the question entirely. “I’ve never seen you come in before. I was beginning to think you were as allergic to school as I am.”

“Your mother is on-call, so I’m handling this. What happened, Westley? Fess up,” Killian commands, purposefully omitting the fact that the Dean had specifically asked for him to be make an appearance rather than his wife. He can’t fathom the significance of the request, but he knows whatever it is, it’s not good.

Before Wes can even speak, the door to the office opens and Dean Rooney, a haggard man with increasingly graying ginger hair and a handlebar mustache far too big for his face, appears.

“Mr. Jones, so glad you could make it. Please, come in…there’s a lot we need to discuss…”

Killian moves forward and Wes stands to follow them both. However, Dean Rooney places his hand out, gesturing to them stop.

“Westley, I know you’re an old hat at this, but I would like to speak to your father privately, if you don’t mind.”

* * *

Wes’s eyes widen again, once more he looks surprised. Killian watches as his son sits down tentatively, jaw working. It’s obvious that this request is something new to the routine and he’s not sure how to handle it. Killian cannot help but feel the same. As his son had stated, Killian is not usually the one who handles school calls. He doesn’t know the routine, but something about this entire situation feels off.

Killian follows the man into the office, sparing his son on last glance before entering. Dean Rooney shuts the door behind them, closing the blinds. The action puts Killian a bit more on edge.

“Mr. Jones, I don’t think we’ve been formerly introduced. I’m Edward R. Rooney, Dean of Students,” the man says, holding out his hand for Killian to shake.

“Killian Jones, Deputy Sheriff,” he responds, taking his hand and giving it a brisk but firm shake.

“I know,” the Dean replies, looking like he’s fighting the urge to roll his eyes.

Dean Rooney gives him a condescending smile, which makes the muscles in Killian’s only hand twitch. He takes a small breath and returns that smile with a waning one of his own.

“Have a seat, Mr. Jones,” Dean Rooney says, gesturing to the chair situated in front of the desk. It looks like one of the chairs from his kids’ classes; wooden and uncomfortable. Killian wonders how many times his kids have sat this seat.

“You said that there was an incident today. I’m assuming by the look of my son, he got into a fight,” Killian starts as he sits down in the chair. He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees and fingers curling around his hook.

“Incident…that’s a word for it,” Dean Rooney says, raising his eyebrows and looking down on his desk with a snort.

He picks up a large file. It’s a good few inches thick and completely full of paper of various colors.

“Do you know what this is?” Dean Rooney asks. He doesn’t wait for Killian to respond. “This is your son’s permanent record. Everything Westley Graham Jones has done since he entered kindergarten is in this file. It’s practically a book.”

Killian doesn’t respond. His fingers tighten around his hook until his knuckles go white. He senses that Dean Rooney isn’t done. He waits.

His hunch is founded when Dean Rooney opens the file and starts flipping through the papers. He goes all the way to the back of the file and looks back up at Killian with an intense frown.

“Stealing things from kids’ cubbies in kindergarten…Cutting school halfway through the day in second grade…faking sick in third grade…Pretending to be another student in order to take a test for them in the fourth grade…Entering the girls’ locker room that same year…Starting a hunger strike in the fifth grade…Starting a school wide food fight that same year…Allowing all the frogs to escape from the science lab in the sixth grade…Stealing tampons of all things from the nurse’s office also that same year…staging a “human pac-man” game in the halls in the seven grade…eighth grade was a little quiet except for the water fight in the boys’ locker room. Those are just from the highlight reel…Or if we’re looking at what happened today, those are the warm up rounds…”

“What happened today, Mr. Rooney?” Killian asks impatiently, bringing his hand up to massage his temple.

“It’s Dean Rooney, Mr. Jones, and your son sent three boys to the hospital today with broken bones and serious injuries. One boy’s arm was so badly damaged that the doctor isn’t sure he will get full motion from his elbow joint again.”

“What?”

Killian’s eyes go wide in surprise. It never has occurred to him before that Wes was capable of inflicting such damage. Wes, while athletic, is wiry and lithe. He didn’t have the same big build and strength that Killian’s elder son Harrison had. 

“I have the video right here,” Dean Rooney says, picking up a video cassette off his desk and shaking it in Killian’s face. “I want you to see what your son has done so you realize why you are here and why he’s being suspended for ten days.”

Killian wants nothing more than to bat the cassette out of his hands but he holds himself back. Dean Rooney rolls a large television next to the desk and pops the cassette into the player before turning the television on. The screen blinks to live and all Killian sees is static before a video takes over. Judging from the footage, the video has been taken from a high angle in one of the hallways. The video is in muted color and offers no sound, but the picture is quite clear.

The hallway is empty save for three boys who are chatting by the lockers at the bottom of the screen. They are all smiling and laughing. Killian can’t hear them but they’re obviously joking about something. It isn’t long before Wes shows up on the screen. Killian knows his shaggy blond hair and red hoodie anywhere. He looks murderous; stride purposeful and fists balled at his sides as he approaches the boys. He goes up to the largest one in the group, a lanky dark haired boy in a green jacket and ripped jeans, and starts saying something. It almost looks like Wes is yelling at the boy, jabbing in him in the chest harshly with his finger. The boy pushes Wes away from him and says something that almost looks taunting from his posture. The two other boys start crowding Wes.

Wes still looks pissed and steps forward again, still jabbing with his finger. This time the other boy doesn’t push him. Instead, he takes a swing at Wes, a sloppy one with no sense of form. If Killian was this boy’s father, he would have been ashamed it. Wes ducks it easily, grabs the arm in question and uses the momentum of the other boy to bring him forward. He brings his knee up to connect with the boy’s nose. Blood spurts and Wes doesn’t even blink, he tosses the boy back into the lockers. The boy’s head connects with the metal so harshly and even without the sound, Killian flinches. Killian is still new to some medical jargon and diagnosis even after being in Storybrooke for eighteen years, but he’s almost perfectly certain that blow was enough to cause a concussion. 

The other boys aren’t just uninvolved bystanders. One, a reedy blond, grabs Wes around the shoulders and puts him in a headlock while the other, a stocky boy with black hair, cuffs Wes across the face. Wes seems to snarl in response, clawing at the blond’s arm. He somehow takes hold of the boy’s wrist and twists it viciously. Killian watches as the injured teenager lets out a silent scream on the screen. He releases Wes who lets go of the blond’s wrist just to grab higher on his arm. He jerks the boy until his front hits the wall. Wes slams into him and in a show of viciousness, once more twists with enough of force that the arm turns at an unnatural angle. Killian closes his eyes as he’s hit with a sickening sense of deja vu. His son fights just like him; quick, dirty and vicious.

The stocky one grabs at Wes and pulls him off the blond who crumples to the floor and appears to be whimpering, cradling his obviously broken arm to his chest. It’s obvious none of these kids know how to fight unlike Wes who has been trained at Killian’s knee since he was young. The stocky kid is able to get in a few hits on Wes who barely seems to feel them. The boy looks terrified like he’s fighting because he feels he has no choice while Wes seems to be zeroing in on him like he’s ready to kill. Killian knows it’s over. He knows what’s going to happen next. He sees his son glance at the boy’s knees and Killian doesn’t need to watch to know what Wes is going to do because he knows he would do the same in that situation. He watches anyway.

Wes slide tackles him, bringing him to the floor. The stocky boy falls easily, but Killian knows it’s far from over. Wes gets on top of him and begins to punch the boy repeatedly in the face. Blood spatters across the floor, staining Wes’s knuckles and dribbling all over the kid’s clothes. Killian’s entire being is focused on the screen as he watches in horror. His eyes strain to the point where the screen seems to blur and suddenly Killian is watching himself trying to punch the child into a grave instead of his son. Shaggy blond hair turns black and the red hoodie turns into a leather jacket. He wants to throw up.

Killian can’t breathe and the scars on his back, the first ones he ever received, start to ache again. The video in front of him seems to make them open up again despite the fact that they last time they bled, Killian was eleven years old.

 _“Seed is strong, lads. The sins of the father always come up in the sons,”_  the voice of the captain, the one who Brennan Jones sold his sons to, rings in Killian’s ears like the old bastard is right next to him. Killian remembers the words vividly because the old captain had spoken them before whipping him and Liam for stealing silver - a crime they hadn’t committed. The old captain hadn’t cared. He just figured that Jones brothers had inherited their father’s penchant for thievery.

The old captain was bloody right. Killian had inherited his father’s sins, but they hadn’t truly come to light until his pirate years. Brennan’s sins had taken awhile to show up in Killian but apparently Killian’s penchant for violence is showing up much earlier in Wes. Killian’s sins went far beyond just violence though. He had lied, cheated, stolen, pillaged, plundered and murdered countless, including his own father. How long would it be before these sins showed themselves in his son or even his other children? Harrison and Neddy seemed gentle and sweet enough, but how long would it be before darkness emerged in them? What of his precious girl? When would her heart blacken?

“Mr. Jones…are you still with me?” Dean Rooney calls, breaking Killian away from his thoughts.

Killian blinks, bringing himself back to the present and rubbing his thumb against the side of his nose with a shaky breath. He looks back at the Dean with weary eyes. The man looks equal parts irritated and impatient.

“Yes, Mr. Rooney?” Killian gestures for the man to continue.

“It’s Dean Rooney, Mr. Jones. Dean Rooney. I take my job seriously and I expect you to respect that. As I’m sure you can understand this is not acceptable behavior here at Storybrooke Central High School,” Dean Rooney starts and Killian can tell he’s in for a long hull. “This kind of violence cannot be tolerated. Your son has been misbehaving since he entered the school system and not once have you shown up to address the issue. Only your wife has. I called for you specifically because I don’t think your wife has been taking this matter seriously enough. His behavior has not curbed with her handling. Perhaps a more masculine authority figure will do the trick. Take more of an interest in your son’s academic career or he’s out of here. I don’t care if his mother’s the Savior.”

Killian wants to scream at him. This isn’t Emma’s fault or her lack of parenting. Emma is a great mother and not once has she ever let the kids off the hook in regard to their natures. The blame lays at his feet. It’s his bad blood here, but he can’t bring himself to speak because he’s still reeling over the video.

“I’ll talk to him,” Killian says, feeling exhausted and heavy.

“You will do more than just talk to him,” Dean Rooney replies firmly. “You take see to it that his behavior stops. And you will put him in counseling. If it were up to me, Mr. Jones, he would be expelled but the Disciplinary Committee is softer than I am and says that ten days of suspension is the correct punishment for the crime despite the fact your son impaired the starting pitcher for the baseball team. However, I will not let him through the front doors unless I receive word that he is in counseling. Do I make myself clear?”

“Aye.”

"Leave. Take your son and get out of my school. Now.”

Wes looks somewhat anxious when Killian leaves Dean Rooney’s office. Anxious but not remorseful; more worried about what happened in the office than repentant of the fact he had beaten three kids to a bloody pulp. Wes’s eyes meet his and he sees his own eyes staring back at him. It sickens him.

“Dad, I”- “I don’t want to hear it,” Killian cuts him firmly. “Get up. We’re leaving.”

Wes follows Killian out of the building and into the black SUV he and his wife had bought when Neddy was born and they could no longer squeeze the entire family into the tiny yellow bug. The old bug was still kicking; Emma preferred using it when she was on patrol. The SUV is all Killian’s, and occasionally Harrison’s now that he had his permit.

Wes gets into the passenger’s seat as Killian piles into the driver’s side. As soon as Killian settles into his seat, he leans over and gives his son a whack on the back of his head. Wes yelps and looks over at him with a stunned expression. Killian is not one for striking children, including his own, but the situation calls for it.

“What the bloody hell you were thinking?” he barks at the boy.

“Dad, listen to me, it’s not what you”-“Stop talking,” Killian hisses, interrupting him once more. “I honestly don’t want to hear it. I saw the video, Westley. You could have killed one of those kids. You’ll be lucky if they don’t press charges. Your mother and I might have to cuff you. Do you even understand what you have done?”

“Dad! Just listen”- “No. I’m done. I told you I don’t want to hear it!”

“Are you going to listen to my side of the story at all?” Wes practically screams at him, frustration plainly evident on his face.

“Your side of the story is that you put three kids who don’t even know how to properly throw a punch in the hospital. Your side of the story is that you were using techniques I specifically taught for life and death situations only on them. Your side of the story is that you’re grounded until I say so and you’re going to hand over your phone to me right now.”

“What you kidding me? Mom would have at least listened to my side to the story!” Wes protests.

“Phone. Now!” Killian commands, using his captain voice; the one that brokers no arguments.

He holds out his hand, waiting for his son to obey his request. Wes does in a begrudging fashion, scowling as he hands over his most prized possession.

“So, this is it? You’re really not even going to ask for my side of what happened? This is ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. And so unfair!” Wes whines, crossing his arms in front of his chest. His face is red with anger, but Killian doesn’t care.

“What’s unfair is that you twisted a kid’s arm so hard that you broke his bones and he’s never going to move that elbow the same way. Not only that, but you beat a kid’s face in. I watched the video, Wes. You can’t lie about this. Honestly, I can’t even look at you,” Killian responds in his fit of anger.

He keeps his eyes trained on the road because if he looks at his son, he knows what will be staring back at him - the worst part of himself. He needs a drink. Or twenty.

Killian makes a near beeline for the kitchen when they arrive home. He needs something to get rid of the edge that had been settled in his bones since he watched the video. Wes moodily bumps past him, which causes Killian to pause in his path and send his son a vicious glare.

“Go to your room now and don’t come out until I say so,” Killian orders him.

Wes, in typical teenage fashion, rolls his eyes and glowers at him.

“Yes, Captain,” he replies sarcastically, giving him a mocking salute.

“You’re very lucky I’m your father and not your captain,” Killian replies darkly, his mood continuing to sour. “You could be flogged for the shit you pulled today. Hell, even kicked off the ship. You were out of control.”

“If I was on a ship, you would be forced to listen to my side of the story or there would be mutiny,” Wes mutters under his breath. “No crew would stand for you playing judge, jury and executioner. This is bullshit.”

Killian ignores him in favor of pulling the rum bottle from under the sink and taking a clean glass from the dishwasher. He pours himself two fingers of rum when he hears the door to Wes’s bedroom door slam shut with a thunderous bang. Killian pauses for a moment before adding more rum to the glass, nearly filling it to the top.

He sits himself at the kitchen table, drinking at a more than healthy rate. Killian stares at the family photo hanging on the wall. It was a photo taken a few months ago, not long after Harrison finally got his driver’s permit. They’re all smiling. Emma and Killian sitting side by side, their heads so close together that their ears practically touch. Seven-year-old Neddy is sitting in Killian’s lap, his dark hair, wild curls not unlike Liam, tickling Killian’s nose. Beth is leaning over him, her head close to Neddy’s, with her brown hair falling like a thick curtain over Killian’s shoulder while Wes stands beside Emma with his hand resting on her shoulder. Henry and Harrison stand behind them, Harrison practically looming over everyone including his older half-brother. Henry is not a small man by any means, but he’s completely dwarfed by Harrison. Henry might have fourteen years on Harrison, but Harrison has at least five inches on Henry. That doesn’t seem to matter though in the photo. He looks just as delighted to be there as anyone. All look happy and full of a light; no hints of the darkness that laid behind the surface.

What the fuck had he been thinking? He had sired four children carelessly without thinking of the consequences. Sins aren’t something that just go away. The blood may wash away, the bones might decay and the metal possibly rust, but the darkness always remained. He had passed it all on without even a thought. How long would it be before it all came to the surface? Killian didn’t know but the thought of it made him finish his drink.

He raises the bottle to pour himself another glass full, but pauses for a moment before deciding to cut out of the middle man and drink straight from the bottle. He pushes away the glass and glances away from the happy family photo. He can’t look at it without feeling ashamed with himself.

The bottle is nearly finished and his mood is even more melancholy when his wife finds him. She pauses for a moment at the doorway, blinking and assessing him quietly before approaching.

“I see we invited Captain Morgan over for a visit today,” she says carefully.

Killian snorts.

“Actually, this is the Appleton Estate you got me for Christmas. Not that Captain Morgan swill you keep rambling on about every time I have a nip,” he replies, his words slightly slurring.

“Please tell me you didn’t just down hundred-and-fifty dollar rum in one sitting,” she comments, looking exasperated as she shrugs off her red coat and places on the rack right next to his leather one, Harrison’s brown bomber jacket and Wes’s red hoodie.

“Like I said, just a nip,” he responds wearily.

“If this is what you call a nip, then we have bigger problems than I thought. Jesus, Killian. Who died?”

“No one that I’m aware of,” he responds. “But Westley gave it a trying effort.”

“What happened with Wes?” Emma asks, her eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

Killian ignores the question, staring down in at the near empty rum bottle in his hand. He runs his hook down the side of it. Emma watches him patiently, waiting for answer. She’s gotten better at reading him; now knowing when to push and when to pry. A brittle smile crosses his lips. He’s become as much of an open book to her as she is to him, which shouldn’t surprise him as much it does considering how long they’ve been together.

“Why did we decide to have children, Swan?” he asks finally.

Emma’s confusion only mounts with this question. She gives him a long look before deciding to humor him a bit.

“Well, we never really decided. I mean we talked about it before the wedding and decided to table it until after we were married for a few years, but then after Final Battle we had that three-month sex-a-thon where I wasn’t the best about birth control and we ended up with that giant six-foot, four-inch kid who, scary enough, is now old enough to drive…and the other three just kinda walked out of me after that. I mean, we didn’t plan for it to happen but I think it turned out pretty well all things considered. I’m happy with the results.”

“I think you might want to reassess that,” Killian said, still concentrating on the bottle.

Emma blinks for a moment before marching over to him and placing her hands on his shoulders, pushing against them in hopes of making him look her in the eye.

“What is going on with you?” She demands, her patience breaking and her frustration shining through. “What happened with Wes that’s got in you in such a fit?”

“Our boy fights like his old man, Swan, just like me,” Killian replies, letting out a bitter chuckle. “Fights like he’s got the devil in him and I guess he does. He’s got my blood after all. Sins of the father…”

“Seriously, Killian, answer me,” Emma hisses through her teeth. “I have no idea what’s going on with you and all you’re doing is spouting a bunch of drunken nonsense.”

“My father was a liar, thief and a coward who sold his sons, Swan. I’m a pirate who pillaged, plundered and murdered more than I can count. A villain. I only wonder what will become of my children.”

“I don’t wonder at all because our children are fantastic. They fuck up from time to time, but their hearts are always in the right place, just like you,” Emma starts, bringing her hand up to his face and rubbing her thumb against his scar in a rhythmic motion. “You’re a hero, Killian. I know you’ve never believed it but you are and you’ve come so far. I wish you could see yourself the way I see you, the way our children see you. What your father did has nothing to do with you and what you did has nothing to do with our children. They’re their own people with their own destinies. They’re good kids. You’re a good man. No more sins of the father bullshit, okay? Now tell me what’s wrong…”

Emma’s eyes find his and Killian is almost caught in the intensity of it. He can tell she is being completely serious at the moment and honestly, he’s never loved her more for it even though the core of him disagrees with the very notion that he’s redeemed enough to even be considered a hero. He moves his head in her hand, placing a kiss on her palm.

“Wes got in a fight today. It was bad, Swan. He beat the ever living shit out of those kids. And when I mean he beat the ever living shit out of those kids…I mean he could have killed them, Swan. Rooney called me. Showed me the video, the bloody rap sheet he has on Wes. Christ, Emma? It’s like a bloody book. He’s suspended for ten days and they won’t let him back until he gets counseling. They wanted me on his case because they didn’t think you were taking it seriously enough.”

Emma takes her hand away from his face, bringing both of hers up to her face and rubbing her temples profusely. She looks nearly as stressed out and weary as Killian feels.

“Jesus fucking Christ on a pogo stick, Westley Graham Jones,” Emma groans. “What set him off? Are Bobbi and Gideon okay?”

“I have no idea what set him off,” Killian admits. “And why would Gideon and Bobbi be of concern? They’re not involved…” Killian’s more than aware that Gideon Gold and Bobbi Mills are his son’s best friends and that they are extremely close, but he’s not sure why his wife would think they would be connected to the fight.

Emma gives him an exasperated look.

“Killian, they have everything to do with it. Rooney showed you the “rap sheet” right? Literally everything on there is related to those two. The stealing back in kindergarten? Wes trying to get back things taken from Gideon. Pretending be someone else for a test? Also Gideon. He was sick that day and they don’t allow re-takes. The hunger strike? Bobbi’s allergic to strawberry jelly which is the only kind they used to make sandwiches until your son made a stink. The tampons? For Bobbi, she was stuck in the bathroom and didn’t have any. Your son has a good heart, Killian. He just doesn’t think sometimes.”

Killian swallows, looking back down at the bottle.

“How do you know all of this?” he asks hoarsely.

“Because I talk to him,” Emma answers simply with an almost sad looking smile. “And maybe you should too.”

“It still doesn’t excuse what he did though,” Killian replies with a sigh, rubbing his temples.

“I wasn’t making excuses for him, Killian. He’s fucking grounded as hell. A month at least. No video games or computer unless it’s homework. And he’s writing an apology to those kids and their parents. They probably deserved what was coming for them if I know Wes as I do, but it might stop them from pressing charges. And I agree with the walrus that he should talk to someone, but that’s not why I’m telling you about him being an idiot over Gideon and Bobbi. I’m telling you that because you’re sitting here thinking you’re a monster and our son is a monster and I’m telling you that you’re wrong.”

Killian’s quiet for a moment as he listens to his wife speak. He can’t name all the emotions that are running through him, but the one that feels the most prominent is gratitude. She always knows what he needs just like he knows she’s uncomfortable with overly emotional situations. Instead of pouring his heart out like he wants, he focuses on the more humorous element of her speech.

“The walrus?” Killian’s eyebrow quirks.

“Rooney. He’s an asshole and don’t lie, that ridiculous mustache makes him look like a walrus,” Emma says, a smile gracing her lips.

Killian laughs and this time it’s genuine. Their eyes catch for a moment and they smile at each other.

“I love you,” he says earnestly.

“I love you too,” she replies, leaning over and giving him a quick kiss on the lips. “Now, go talk to our son.”

Killian hands his wife the bottle as he gets up to make his way up the stairs. He looks back at her and watches as she brings it to her own lips, finishing off the rest of it. She catches him looking back at her and wags the bottle at him.

“This was good stuff and I can’t believe you just drained it all in an emo moment. If I didn’t love you so much, I would be so pissed off right now. Now go. Do what you do best and be Dad,” Emma calls to him, nodding her head towards the top of the stairs.

Killian chuckles and continues his ascent. As he reaches the top of the stairs, he hears Wes’s voice. He frowns for a moment. Who the hell was he talking to? He didn’t have his phone since Killian had confiscated it in the car.

Unless…

Killian reaches for the pocket where he had placed Wes’s phone. It’s empty. Killian lets out a soft sigh of frustration. Pick-pocketed by his own son? That’s a humiliation he never expected. Wes must have lifted it when they were walking into the house while Killian was distracted. He is getting old.

True enough, Wes’s bedroom door is cracked slightly open and Killian can see his son laying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling with his phone next to his head. Killian hears the rhythmic thudding of a tennis ball hitting the ceiling alongside the conversation.

“I’m telling you, Gid, he didn’t even let me talk. He looked at me like I was a bloody demon” Wes says moodily.

“Well, you did send three kids to the hospital, Westley. The entire school is a bit freaked.” Gideon’s calm voice is clear with a slight robotic tinge, which allows Killian to deduce that the boy is on speaker phone.

“Fletcher threw the first punch. I retaliated. I was a little rough, but I had to be after what they did to you. That can’t be tolerated,” Wes replies, still tossing the ball against the ceiling.

Killian leans against the wall, closing his eyes. His wife was right. The fight was linked to something the boys had done something to Gideon. He privately wonders what they did to deserve such brutality and whether his son will trust him enough to tell him.

“One of these days you’re going to get tired of fighting a crusade on my behalf,” Gideon replies and even over the phone, Killian can hear the weariness in Gideon’s voice. He sounds both tired and resigned.

“Never,” Wes responds sternly. “They can’t treat you like that. You’re my best friend. You’re everything. And they’re fucking assholes. They could have caused serious damage, Gid. It’s not like they were throwing little pebbles at you. They were rocks, Gid. Big rocks. If they had hit you in head, you could have had brain damage or worse, they could have killed you. Let’s call it what it was. They were trying to fucking stone you. Like medieval death sentence bullshit. You nearly broke your jaw. If you didn’t have magic, you would be in the hospital.”

As Wes speaks, Killian can hear his voice getting louder and angrier. It’s quite obvious that Wes is very upset about what happened, perhaps more so than Gideon. Killian knows that the local of the kids in Storybrooke weren’t fond of Gideon. He isn’t blind. He’s seen the looks and how some kids even crossed over to the other side of the street so they weren’t on the same sidewalk as him. He hadn’t realized that the situation was quite as severe as what Wes and Gideon seemed to be alluding to.

“Do your parents know…?” Wes asks quietly.

Killian strains to listen more because he is also wondering about how much the Dark One and Belle knew. He can’t imagine either would be idle about the abuse their son is facing. Killian fears he already knows the answer.

“No. I don’t tell them. I never have. They have other things to worry about,” Gideon says in a calm matter of fact tone.

“That’s fucked up,” Wes replies, sounding even more upset. He stops bouncing the ball and squeezes it hard between his fingers. Killian watches all the color leaves his knuckles.

“It’s not your place to say.” Gideon’s voice is so frosty that it causes Killian to suck on his teeth a bit.

“Bullshit. Of course, it’s my place. Anytime something involves you, it’s my place. You. Bobbi. Neddy. Beth. Fuck, even perfect fucking Harrison. If someone fucks you, they fuck with me and every time you’re hurt, I’m hurt. Don’t make me fucking say it.”

“I don’t need you to say it, Westley. I know it.” Gideon’s calm demeanor falters a bit. “You pretend you don’t, but you care. You care about all of us. I think you might even care too much.”

“I don’t care enough.” The way Wes says it makes it sounds like it’s an unshakeable fact.

“You have a heart, Tin Man. You may not show it a lot, but you have it. I’ve always known. Even before you tried to steal the ball back for me all the way back in kindergarten,” Gideon responds. His voice is back to it’s normal calm and collected tone, but Killian hears the affection underneath it.

“Oh my god, don’t get sappy on me, Gold. It’s unsightly,” Wes responds with humor. The tone is playful, however Killian is more inclined to believe it’s a cover up to mask the fact that Wes has reached his emotional limit.

“Then I shall spare you and bid you farewell,” Gideon replies. “Pleasant evening and pleasant dreams, Westley Graham.”

“Goodnight, you fucking weirdo,” Wes replies with a snort before reaching over to end the call.

As Wes leaning back from ending the call, his eyes flicker towards the door and meet Killian’s through the crack. Killian watches with faint amusement as Wes’s blue eyes go as wide as saucers.

“Fuck,” Wes breathes out.

“Ah, yes,” Killian replies, slightly entertained. “Fuck.”

“You gonna go ballistic about me swiping the phone?” Wes asks, glancing down at the phone on his bed before looking back up at his father.

Killian walks forward, pushing the door fully open and leaning against the doorway. Wes responds by sitting upright, swinging his feet so that they’re resting on the side rail of the bed. He leans back to assume a casual pose but Killian can see the tension still lingering his shoulders.

“You can keep the phone,” Killian says after a moment. “But only because if we take that away too I would fear for my own sanity. You’re grounded for a month. No video games. No computer except for homework. House arrest basically for the ten days you’re suspended, but once you’re back in school, you’re to come home straight after soccer practice unless your mother and I need you for work at the station or with the Jolly. You’re going to start seeing Archie.”

“I expected as much,” Wes says with a shrug.

Killian hesitates for a moment. Now that he knows why Wes did what he did, he’s not sure how he’s going to handle the next bit of his punishment. However, despite the new knowledge, Killian knows it’s necessary to help keep the parents from pressing charges against his son.

“You’re also going to write a letter to the boys, their parents and the school, apologizing for your behavior and promising that you’re going to turn over a new leaf.”

“No,” Wes hisses through his teeth. His eyes flash with anger and Killian can see the storm brewing behind his eyes.

“Yes,” Killian says firmly.

“You don’t know what those kids did! You didn’t even ask me why all this bullshi”-“Yes, I do,” Killian cuts him off. “I heard you talking to Gideon. I know about the stoning.”

“Then you know why I can’t say I’m sorry because I’m not,” Wes states, still staring down his father with intense eyes. “I’m not like you or Mom or Grandpa David or Grandma Snow or Henry or Harrison. I can’t just forgive and forget and pretend to be remorseful. Those assholes got what they deserved. They wanted to hurt Gideon. They don’t deserve my forgiveness, my mercy or even my fake ass apology. I’m not a hero. I’m never going to be. Stop trying to make me like you.”

“This that what you think this is?” Killian asks, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “You think I’m trying to make you like me?”

“Yes.” Wes says it so firmly that Killian almost believes it too. “You want me to be to be some goody two shoes hero who just lets bygones be bygones because who cares if they tried to kill the freaky boy who has magic.”

“Westley,” Killian says his son’s name softly like he did the first time when they placed the screaming, squirming boy in his arms. “The last person I want you to be is me. And trust me, I’m no hero.”

“Bullshit,” Wes replies with a roll of his eyes. “You and Mom are like the fucking dynamic duo. Batman and Robin. Except you’re actually married and children, though comic freaks would debate that. But for real, you don’t get more heroic than the two of you. You got even Grandpa and Grandma beat.”

It’s in this moment that Killian realizes that his children don’t know the darkness in his past. They’re aware he was a pirate, but they’re not aware of the numerous upon numerous crimes he committed. They don’t know that he murdered both their paternal grandfather and their maternal great-grandfather in cold blood. They don’t know how many times he’s tried to kill Rumpelstiltskin or that he shot Belle. They aren’t aware that he once abandoned their Aunt Ariel’s beloved Prince Eric to die for the Jolly Roger or that he once tried to torture Archie. He and his wife have glossed over these facts and this has allowed them to see a more romanticized version of Captain Hook rather than the villain that he used to be.

He can’t let it continue.

Killian steps forward and sits down next to his son, looking him straight in the eye. Wes looks back at him with a puzzled expression. He takes a deep breath.

“I’m not a hero, Westley,” he starts. “I might try to do heroic things, but that’s because I have more blood stained on these hands than I can even begin to deal with. I have a lot to atone for. You and your siblings are aware that I’ve been alive for good awhile and I can’t say I’ve done a lot of good in all of those years. In fact, I’ve done a lot of bad. More bad than you can possibly imagine. If there’s a crime in down in the books, chances are I’ve done it. Except rape. I’ve taken many man’s wife, but never against her will and that’s one thing even I can’t condone. I guess if I can pride myself on anything, it’s that. There’s a lot I can forgive but that…But everything else? Probably done it at least a dozen times without even blinking…you see…you see me as this great hero, but the reality? For the majority of my life, I was a villain.”

It all pours out of him from there. Everything he’s done from the moment he could remember right up until that very morning. Wes’s eyes look as if they want to pop out of their sockets and there are a few times where he looks like he wants to say something, but Killian doesn’t let him. He keeps going; revealing every sin and every depravity. When he’s finished, Wes is silent and Killian allows him to process everything. He just unloaded near two hundred years of crime on his fourteen year old son. It’s bound to be a bit overwhelming.

“So…” Wes says after a moment. “You are were like a real douchebag?”

Killian is silent for a moment, mulling over his son’s words. A part of him is offended by the term, however it isn’t exactly incorrect.

“Aye,” Killian replies. “I guess I was a real douchebag.”

“Huh.” Wes is quiet for a moment. “Why did you tell me? Like no one has ever said anything about you being a complete dick before. I mean everyone seems to adore you. Fuck, Mom married you. I exist. How? Why?”

“I changed. I changed for your mother,” Killian replies softly. “She is the light of my very dark life and she challenged me to be a better man and I’ve done my best to honor that challenge. But you see, Westley, I don’t want you to be like me. I want you to be you and to use the brain that you were given because you are capable of being a thousand times the man I will ever be. It’s there in you. You are born of the greatest light I’ve known, you just need to let it out and not let the darkness win.”

Wes is quiet again. He picks up the tennis ball, fiddling with it. Killian watches as his fingers trace the white seam.

“That’s a hell of a pep talk. Like that’s fucking award worthy right there and I’m not even mocking you for once. But I’m going to be honest with you, Dad, since you’ve been honest with me. I still really don’t want to write those apology letters. I know it would be better if I did from a moral standpoint, but I just…”

“Wes, keeping up with this honest rapport we have going on, I do not give a damn whether you genuinely put your heart and soul into it. I don’t even care if you don’t feel one ounce of remorse. What those boys did was heinous and they deserved something to come for them. I think your mother would agreed to that even. However, that’s not why we want you to write the letters. We want them done so they don’t press charges and you don’t have a criminal record officially. I think your mother can tell you all the joys of being stuck in the brig. So please, for yourself, write the goddamn letters. If it’s to heinous, just write ‘I’m sorry for the damage I have caused’ and say nothing else. Okay?”

“Okay…I’ll do it but only so you don’t book me,” Wes grumbles, sighing heavily.

Killian places his hand on his son’s shoulder before leaning forward and giving his son a kiss on the forehead. He hasn’t kissed his son since he was in single digits, but the moment seemed to call for it.

“Good. Now go call Bobbi and tell her you’re under house arrest,” Killian says with some amusement before getting up and heading for the door.

“Hey Dad…” Wes calls as Killian gets to the doorway.

Killian places his hand on the wooden panel and turns to face his son. Wes bits his lip for a moment before speaking.

“Dad, I know you don’t think it,” he starts. “But you are a hero…you did terrible things…like I’m still processing everything and all, but you owned up to it. A lesser man would have kept it all under the rug, especially when everyone is so willing to forget and let it go, but you didn’t. You told me the truth. You didn’t try to excuse it or downplay it….Fuck this is sappy, but only a hero could do something like that, so you’re my hero. That’s the one and only time I’ve ever going to say that. If you tell anyone, I will deny it.”

Killian opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out. He looks Wes in the eye and sees that he truly and firmly believes it. His fingers tremble against the wood under his fingertips. He can’t speak but he brings himself to nod.

And with that small gesture, Killian closes the door behind him so that his son can’t see the tears starting to fall down his cheeks.


End file.
